New Plans
by QueenoftheDarned
Summary: Billie didn't ask to be saddled with The Boy - but then, the universe just keeps finding new ways to laugh at her. Eager to put Karnaca and all its bad memories behind her, she procures a new ship and sets sail for... well, anywhere. But the Void is hungry, and just because some cages are invisible, doesn't mean they don't exist.
1. I

** New Plans**

**I**

The life of Billie Lurk had been filled with many a strange turn. First she'd been an urchin, then an assassin, a ship's captain, and now she was saddled with a four-thousand-year-old former god in a teenager's body. It wasn't the strangest thing she'd ever done, but it came close.

She hadn't exactly planned on taking in The Boy, but she wasn't about to leave him to the mercy of the streets, either. Not after everything they had been through. Besides, it was nice to have someone else around now that Daud was gone. Not that she'd ever admit it.

At first The Boy could only go out after sundown, his eyes sensitive after centuries in the dark. He'd stood on Karnacan rooftops, taking in the lights of the city and the stars above it like a drowning man taking in air. He stayed out until the sun rose over the horizon, retreating back to their hideout when he could stand the light no more. He rested when sleep overcame him, and ate when Billie reminded him to. She'd never forget the expression on his face at his first taste of a Bastillian peach. Now he wandered the streets, drinking in the sights, sounds and smells of life as he went. Taking care to avoid the Abbey, he wove his way through the city, taking routes he'd seen through the eyes of countless generations.

For her part, Billie got straight back to work, taking contracts wherever she could. Karnaca was starting to feel like a jail cell, especially now the Month of Rain was fast approaching. She needed to get away again, to feel the roll of the waves beneath her feet.

Today had been a prosperous day. With coin jangling in her pockets, she'd bought food at the market, canned fruit and jellied eels, and a big round loaf of dark bread. Now she made her way back to her apartment near the docks, shielding the bread beneath her jacket from the rain that had rolled in from the south. As she drew nearer, a couple of dock workers hurried past, hands in their pockets, collars turned up against the cold.

"What kind of moron stands out in the middle of the street in this weather? And without a coat?" said one of them, a woman. Billie didn't break her stride, but a sliver of worry wormed its way into her belly. Were they talking about-?

"Poor lad, prob'ly touched by the Outsider," the other dock worker tapped the side of his forehead. Billie picked up her pace and rounded the corner - and stopped dead in her tracks.

The Boy stood in the middle of the street outside their apartment building, his face turned to the sky. He wore an expression of pure rapture. He was soaked from head to toe, rain running in rivulets down his face and into his shirt, but he didn't seem to care. When Billie strode over and cleared her throat loudly, he blinked and stirred as if coming out of a trance.

"Isn't it wonderful?" he said, his voice choked up. "I haven't felt the rain in... so long."

'Wonderful' wasn't quite the word Billie would have used. She bit back a growl of _ "Outsider's teeth" - _she'd had to do that a lot, lately - before thrusting the bread into The Boy's hands and maneuvering him out of the road.

"Come on, people are staring," she said, directing a one-eyed glare at a shop worker hovering in a doorway nearby. If people started asking too many questions, the Abbey might start sniffing around. That would go badly for both of them.

They let themselves into the apartment building and climbed the stairs up to the third floor. Billie had been lucky enough to find a room to rent from a landlord who knew how to mind his own business. It was cheap for a reason, converted out of an old warehouse, with a leaky roof and paper thin walls. They had a cot each, a small table and a wooden trunk with the few belongings they had. It wasn't much to look at, but Billie had lived in worse. So had The Boy.

Billie shut the door behind them and set her basket down on the low table in the middle of the room. The Boy was dripping everywhere, and starting to shiver, but his eyes were still lit up with happiness.

"Go light the fire and dry off those wet clothes," Billie told him. "I didn't risk my neck to save your life only for you to catch your death."

As The Boy tossed some scrap wood into the fireplace, Billie thought she saw a hint of a smile on his face. She turned away to lay out the food she'd bought. Why did the incorrigible little shit listen to her _ now? _And why did she sound more like Daud every day?

_ I'm not his mother, _ she reminded herself. _ I didn't ask to be saddled with him. _

When she heard the fire crackling in the grate and The Boy slipping into some dry clothes, she finally straightened up. He was still buttoning his shirt, and she looked away quickly at the sight of his ribs. He'd been thin - too thin - when he'd been thrown into the Void. She knew how it felt to be that hungry.

_ Not his mother, _ she reminded herself again, more forcefully.

"Come and eat," she said, pulling her cot closer to the fire and sitting down. "I've got some news."

Her culinary skills might have been sorely lacking, but Billie had never much cared for fancy food anyway. At least she could keep their bellies full, and since The Boy would probably eat nothing but peaches if she let him, he had no reason to complain.

"I've enough coin for a vessel," she said as they ate. "Today was a good haul." The Boy knew she wasn't talking about fishing, but anyone eavesdropping through the walls would be none the wiser. His gaze dropped to the dusty floorboards.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question, but the silence that hung between them was full of meaning. Billie could have laughed at the absurdity of it all - the Outsider, afraid of being left alone? She'd heard him having nightmares though, heard him cry out in his sleep. So she bit her tongue.

"You can come with me if you want. The world's a big place. A boat's as good a way as any to see it all." He looked up at her then, eyes shining with gratitude, and Billie had to look away. She savagely speared a hunk of eel on her fork. "You're not getting a free ride though. You still owe me for the arm." she caught his gaze with her good eye. "And more besides."

There was a long pause, and The Boy got up and went over to the narrow window, looking out onto the rain-soaked street below.

"If I could change things…" he began, but Billie just shrugged.

"What's done is done." In truth, her feelings on the matter were far more complicated, but what was the point in dwelling on it? At least The Boy could help her run the ship. That was a start.

"Where will we go?" he wondered aloud, his mind already fixed on the journey ahead. And why not? He wasn't anchored to any place like Billie was. As much as she fought the ties pulling her back to Dunwall, she knew she would end up there again eventually. She always did. She shrugged, trying not to seem resentful.

"Where do _ you _ want to go?" she asked. She could put off the inevitable for a while, at least. The Boy only hesitated a moment before he turned back to her, the corners of his mouth pulling into a smile. It was an expression he'd seemed unfamiliar with at first, but was slowly coming more naturally to him.

"_ Everywhere, _" he said.

•:•:•:•:•:•

Billie's new vessel wasn't a patch on the _ Dreadful Wale. _ That had taken her far longer to save up for, back when she'd still harboured idle dreams of becoming an honest trader. The _ Knife of Dunwall _ was sleeker but cramped inside. At least its engine was newer and in better repair than the _ Wale _ 's had been. The vessel's initials were painted in the particular shade of crimson Daud had been so fond of. Billie wasn't stupid enough to paint the full name (and moniker of Dunwall's most infamous assassin) on its hull, but it pleased her to honour him in some way. If anyone asked her what the initials stood for, she could always tell them _ "The Knickers of Delilah". _Or punch them in the jaw, whichever she felt like at the time.

She had more pressing concerns right now, though. The _ Knife _was moored at the disused jetty where she'd given Daud his send-off, and where she'd arranged to meet The Boy before they set off. There was no sign of him.

Billie ran her good hand through her close-cropped hair and grit her teeth. _ In annoyance, _she told herself, though there was a trickle of worry there too. What if someone from the Abbey had somehow recognized him and hauled him in? What if one of those rat-fucker cultists had somehow trailed them back to Karnaca? Billie was about to abandon the ship and hurry back into town to search for him when she saw The Boy's slim figure emerge from the crumbling tide walls. He began to pick his way across the ruined jetty towards her.

"Where the Void were you?" She demanded as soon as he reached the boat ramp. The words came out more harshly than she meant them to, but The Boy gave no sign that he'd noticed. Instead he looked up at the ship as he climbed the ramp, taking it all in.

"Fitting for a two-man crew," he remarked. "Your friend Sokolov would approve."

"Hey, don't change the subject. What happened?"

"I was… detained in the marketplace." Billie's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"What were you thinking?" she snapped. "You could have brought the entire Abbey down on our heads. You better not have been recognized." The Boy's eyebrow quirked.

"I'm surprised, Billie Lurk," he said, in a way that made Billie's gut fizz with anger. "Have you forgotten how you used to worry Dau-" he cut off abruptly as she slapped him hard across the face, a month's worth of pent-up grief and resentment finally cracking the dam she'd built for herself. Gripping him by the neck, she slammed him against the hull of the ship.

"Don't you _ dare _ talk about Daud," she snarled at him, "Not here. Not on this ship. Don't you _ dare _." The Boy's eyes went wide with shock at her sudden outburst, his fingers struggling to prise her hands away. It was the first time Billie had seen anything resembling fear on that face, and it bridled her anger. When she let him go, he doubled over, gasping for air.

"Billie," he gasped, "I'm… sorry-"

"I don't want to hear it." Billie turned and stormed up the stairs to the ship's bridge. "Stay out of my way," she added, a threat implicit in her voice. The door to the bridge slammed shut behind her.


	2. II

**II**

The Boy had been truthful about his foray into the marketplace, at least. He'd wanted to take it all in before he left, this time from the street rather than the rooftops. Keeping an eye out for any Eyeless - or worse, Overseers - that might be roaming around, he slipped into the crowd and did his best to blend in.

It wasn't difficult. The people of Karnaca were too fixated on getting to where they were going and swapping too much coin for market goods to care about a skinny fifteen-year-old winding his way through the tangle of bodies.

He passed one of the City Watch, squatting by the side of the road and playing dice with a dock worker. The watchman's piggy eyes were narrowed, but the swarthier of the two was grinning. The watchman's cry of _ "Outsider's balls!" _ as the dock worker relieved him of his purse reached The Boy's ears through the noise of the crowd. He let out a quiet snort. For all Billie's paranoia, these people really had no idea of anything that went on outside their own tiny lives. The world could be consumed by the Void tomorrow and they'd still be fretting over a handful of coppers.

Even so, when the murmur of "Overseers" went through the marketplace and the crowds parted, squeezing onto either side of the narrow street, The Boy followed suit. He carefully positioned himself behind a heavyset man as the grey and white vestments of two Overseers came into view. People glanced away as they approached, keeping their eyes downcast. Since the raid at the Royal Conservatory, the Abbey had come out in force on Karnaca's streets, determined to root out every last source of 'witchcraft' they could find.

One of the Overseers was carrying a music box, and The Boy suppressed a shudder. He'd seen what the music could do to those who bore his mark. He didn't know what it would do to _ him, _but he certainly didn't care to get close enough to find out.

The Overseers passed, and the crowd went back to their business of cheating one another. The Boy slipped away down a narrow side-street, in the opposite direction the Overseers had taken. Better to take an indirect route to Billie's rendezvous point than risk running into them. Once he had put a safe distance between himself and the market, he stopped to assess his situation and work out the best route to take. His mind was so fixed on the problem of finding his way to Billie that he didn't realise he wasn't alone.

"I know you," said a little voice from behind him. He turned to find a girl sitting on the steps of a nearby building. She was grubby and her clothes were tattered. She couldn't have been older than seven or eight. "I saw you in a dream once."

She didn't look frightened - rather, when The Boy knelt down and brought his face level with hers, he saw something in her eyes, hard but hopeful. It was a look he recognised; four thousand years ago, he'd looked up at a stranger the same way. That had ended with a knife against his throat and an eternity in the void.

"You did?" he said, gently. There had been so many dreamers, all longing to hold counsel with him. Back then, he would have been able to remember them all. Now, each blurred into the next. "What did I say, in your dream?"

"You said that I was special. That one day-" her voice dropped to a whisper, "-I would fight the Overseers."

A memory rose, unbidden, from the back of The Boy's mind. A child clutching a white rat. Guards with heavy fists and heavier boots. The same child, first exultant, then screaming in terror, then silent. Slick blood pooling on stone. The Boy swallowed hard and forced a smile.

"What's your name?"

"Linnel."

"Well, Linnel, I'd like for you to listen to me carefully, just like you did in your dream. Can you do that for me?" The girl nodded. "There's more than one way to fight, and there's more to it than being strong, do you understand?" Linnel hesitated, doubt filling her gaze. "You have to be clever," The Boy continued, trying his best to make her grasp the importance of what he was telling her. She gazed up at him with wide eyes and nodded, but the ghost of a frown was already tugging at her features. She got to her feet and dusted off her patched trousers.

"You're different than you were in my dream," she said softly, before turning and running up the steps into the building, letting the door swing shut behind her.

"Yes," said The Boy, turning away and carrying on down the narrow side-street with an unfamiliar feeling squeezing at his insides. Regret, he supposed. "I suppose I am.

He didn't know what path he'd set the girl on - had no way of knowing, not anymore. For better or worse, Linnel's fate would be entirely of her own making.

•:•:•:•:•:•

The Boy, it turned out, didn't have anything remotely resembling sea legs. Spending the last four millennia encased in rock probably didn't help. Billie watched through the foam-spattered window as he struggled up the metal stairs to _ The Knife of Dunwall's _bridge. When he flung open the door the little cabin filled with the sound of the wind and the ocean. Then it slammed shut, and just as quickly the noise abated, the bridge cut off from the outside world once more.

The Boy's hair was windswept, his face reddened by the cold and the biting wind. Billie gave him a glance over - they'd hardly spoken since they left Karnaca. She still felt raw over their fight, and The Boy... well, who knew what went on in his head? Still, for him to brave the slippery steps in weather like this meant he had something to say. She leaned against the ship's controls, arms folded, and waited.

"There's a storm head forming to the Northeast," he told her, wiping salt water from his face.

"I've seen it," Billie said shortly. She peered through the window, where yellowy-green clouds were amassing beyond the spiny islands that stretched away from the mainland of Serkonos. The islands would shelter them from the worst of the storm - a little, anyway. The Boy's gaze flicked from the window to Billie, and back again. Billie caught it, and sighed.  
"There's nothing we can do about it. Stay in your cabin and you'll be fine."

"You'd face the storm on your own?"

"I've sailed through worse." Billie couldn't help but feel a flash of annoyance. The Boy _ knew _ that; he'd been watching her for years, hadn't he? "Look, I don't need you getting under my feet," she said, jerking her head in the direction of the door. The Boy looked as if he were about to say something, then, thinking better of it, nodded curtly and made as if to leave.  
Billie swore under her breath. "Hold on a moment," she said, and he stole a glance over his shoulder.

"Billie…"

"I'm not going to pretend I'll ever understand why you did the things you did." Billie flexed her hand, the blackened, Void-twisted one she tried not to look at, even now. "I don't think one lifetime is long enough to figure it out, and frankly, I've got better things to do."

"There are things I… regret," said The Boy, sounding very much as if the concept were foreign to him. "And there are a lot of things I don't."

"Yeah, I figured." What had Billie been expecting? For him to throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness? That was hardly likely. Besides, she probably would have tossed him down the stairs.  
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the controls, easing _ The Knife of Dunwall _closer to the shore. A gust of wind whistled through a chink in the door, and the ship rocked as a particularly rough wave caught the bow.

"Fine," she said, pretending not to notice the way The Boy clung to the door handle for support. "You want to help? You can start by securing anything you can find that isn't already strapped down. The less mess we have to clean up tomorrow, the better." Another wave hit the bow, sending The Boy slamming into the door with a thump.

"If I don't break my neck first," he complained.

"Be thankful you're not puking your guts out over the side." Ever the font of sympathy, Billie raised her eyebrows and nodded towards the door. Sensing he was being dismissed, The Boy did his best to gather the last shreds of his dignity. The bridge filled with the roar of the growing storm as he opened the door and stepped outside, before that, too, died away, leaving Billie chuckling darkly in the quiet that followed.

•:•:•:•:•:•

Belowdecks The Boy was somewhat steadier on his feet, if only because he could brace his hands on each wall of the narrow gangway. He lingered in doorways, scrutinizing each cabin, but there wasn't much aboard _ The Knife of Dunwall _ that wasn't secured already. The pair didn't have many possessions, and Billie was meticulous about keeping the vessel spotless in a way that she never had on _ The Dreadful Wale. _

Still, at least she was talking to him again, even if the task she'd given him was pointless busywork. He didn't mind that as much as he'd thought he would - despite all the centuries among dreaming sailors, he didn't know the first thing about working aboard a ship. Besides, anything was better than the silent treatment Billie had been giving him since his thoughtless words in Karnaca.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the runesong at first, nor did he recognise it for what it was until he was almost on top of it. He gave a start as he realised he had wandered into Billie's cabin. He'd stayed away from it until now - not because it was private; he'd spent millennia watching people when they thought they were alone - but because it was _ Billie's _ . For the first time in his long life, he felt as though he were trespassing. It made him feel as though he'd sullied himself, somehow.

But there it was, a rune lying on a little pull-out desk chained to the wall, its song filling his ears. Its twisted beauty reminded him of the Whales. He'd seen the effect runes had on people, but never _ understood _ it. He drew closer and reached out to trace its carved surface with his fingertip, but as soon as his skin met its ridged surface, a deep, hollow cold spread through him. He gasped and blinked, trying to pull away as his vision swam, but when he opened his eyes again the cabin was gone. In its place was darkness; terrible, but _ familiar. _

It was like he'd never left.

•:•:•:•:•:•

An hour went by, and The Boy had not returned. Billie's hands at the controls grew impatient as the sea turned even rougher, until she finally had to admit that he should have finished his task by now. She wasn't _ worried, _ mind, but if he'd managed to take a tumble down the stairs, no amount of waiting was going to help him.

She checked their course and slowed the engines to a crawl before buttoning up her jacket and venturing out, bracing herself against the salty wind and the slippery steps.

She found him in her cabin, staring off into space and cradling the runestone she'd taken from Daud's body in his hand.

"Boy!" she said, masking her relief with a scowl. He made no reply, no indication he'd heard her. She clicked her tongue in annoyance and grabbed his shoulder.

She realised something was wrong when he gave a violent shudder, gasping like a drowning man as he tore himself away from the rune and staggered backwards into her arms. She steadied him and sat him down on her cot, where he sagged against the wall of the cabin. His face was grey, but Billie drew back with a gasp when she saw his eyes. They were black - black as the Void.

Outsider's eyes.

"Hey!" She patted his cheek sharply, but his head lolled to the side. Billie shook him, and to her relief he heaved a few shuddering breaths, his eyes returning to their usual steely grey. "What in the Void was _ that?" _

"I was there," he said weakly, rubbing his eyes as if waking from slumber. "Back in the Void." He looked around him, wrapping his arms around himself as if he didn't trust his surroundings. "When I touched the rune..."

"I should have thrown that thing overboard weeks ago," said Billie, shaking her head. "I only kept it because it belonged to Daud."

"I couldn't stop myself. It's like it was calling to me." The Boy's brows knit together, his eyes traveling back to the rune, still sitting on the desk. "The _ Void _was calling to me." Not for the first time, Billie could see him as he must have been before his name had been stripped from him. Lost. Scared.

"You don't have to go back there," she said, wishing she felt as sure of that as she sounded. What did _ she _know, anyway?

"I know. It's just…" The Boy let his head fall back against the cabin wall. "I thought I was free."

"We all have our cages. Some are more visible than others." His eyes kept going back to the rune, no matter how many times he dragged his gaze away. Billie crossed the cabin in two steps and picked it up, weighing it in her hand. "Wait there," she told him, then turned on her heel and made her way up to the deck.

She lingered at the guardrail, the spray coating her lips with salt. The rune sat heavy in the palm of her hand. She could feel the hum of its power through her glove. She gave it one last, long look before drawing back her arm and hefting it over the side. For a moment it was an ivory speck beneath the roiling waves, and then it was gone. In time it might wash up in Karnaca, or perhaps more distant shores. Billie didn't care either way - the relief at having it off her ship felt like a weight lifted from her shoulders. She returned to The Boy, who eyed her warily when she came in, searching her face for any hint of anger.

"It's gone."

"I know. I can't hear it anymore." He looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, please." Billie pulled out the heavy trunk at the foot of her cot and sat down with a shrug. "I put up with you as a ghost in my head. I can put up with this, too. Just don't go grabbing any more runes you find. I can't believe I have to tell _ you _that, of all people." She planted herself more firmly against the planks at her feet as she ship lurched.

"Go on," she said, nodding to the door. "Get some rest. When the storm hits proper I'm going to need you on your feet, and ready to jump to it when I tell you."

"Yes, _ Captain," _he replied. Despite herself, Billie was glad to hear the little shit had come back to himself, mostly.

"That's right. Respect your elders, _ Boy ." _

"I'm four thousand years old, Billie Lurk," The Boy reminded her. Billie just bared her teeth in a feral smile.

"And yet fresh as a daisy. If you don't want to end up falling overboard, you'll do as I say. Or maybe when we reach Dunwall I'll drop you on the Lord Protector's doorstep and leave you there."

"Corvo treats me with a little respect, at least."

"Mmm, you think he'll be happy to see you? Or will he toss you into the Coldridge canal?" Billie rubbed her chin with her good hand. "I know which one I'd put my money on."

With that, The Boy retreated to his cabin while Billie went topside to check on the storm's progress. The easternmost island was wreathed in thick rain now, and there was a heaviness to the air that even the wind couldn't shift. She gripped the guardrail with both hands, feeling leather and sinew flex just outside of her field of view.  
Perhaps one day she'd be able to look at her arm and accept that, like so many things in her life, it had been taken from her by the strange, frail boy sleeping below deck. Not yet, though. Not today.


	3. III

**III**

"Have you thought about choosing a name?"

They were taking their evening meal and sharing a pitcher of cheap wine at_ La Rosa Marchita_, a tavern in Cullero. It was tucked away on the shabbier side of the city, shunned by the tourists as the sailors who frequented the place showed little love for _extranjeros._

They had been two weeks at sea, sailing the islands on the eastern tip of Serkonos. During that time they'd survived summer storms and avoided the razor-sharp, rocky shallows that made sailing to and from the islands perilous. Once, far-off, they'd even spotted the hump of a Whale, which they'd mistaken at first for a far-off island.

To his surprise, The Boy was sorry to leave the sailing life behind while they resupplied, although his legs were better suited for dry land. Cullero was a city of cigars, spice and grapes, different enough from Karnaca to make him both wary and eager to explore.

Now he stared at Billie like she'd leapt onto the table and started belting _ Sands of Serkonos _ at the top of her lungs.

"A name," Billie repeated impatiently. "You don't expect everyone to call you "Boy" forever, do you?"

"You do," The Boy pointed out.

"I'm surprised you haven't picked one already. You could reinvent yourself."

"Like you, _ Meagan _?" That earned The Boy a one-eyed glare, and he dropped his gaze to the table. He was forgetting himself again. He had once thought nothing of taunting people, desperate and dangerous, who could never lay a finger on him while they were in his domain. How easily all those little cruelties had come to him then. How easily they slipped from his lips now.

"I've been called many things," he said, pushing those thoughts aside. "A monster, a god - in Cullero they called me _ El Forastero _ \- _ The Stranger _ ." Billie tensed and stole a glance over her shoulder - most of the other sailors in _ La Rosa _ were deep in their cups or only spoke Culleran _ . _That didn't mean there was no one listening. The Boy's lips flattened as he leaned back in his seat, twirling the stem of his glass between his lean fingers.

"You can call me what you will," he said softly. "There is only one name that carries any meaning for me, and it's lost to me forever."

They lapsed into silence - what could Billie say to that, anyway? - letting bitter cigar smoke and the hush of twenty whispered conversations wash over them. In the end it was a stranger who broke into their thoughts, scraping a chair over the sawdust-covered floorboards and plonking himself down at their table without waiting for an invitation.

"I heard a certain one-eyed _ capitan _ just made port." He was tanned and leathery like a Serkonan sailor, but his accent would have been at home in the alleys of Dunwall. "Long time no see, Meagan."  
Billie didn't comment on the use of the name, but The Boy made a note of it. Billie used names like currency.

"That was by design. I thought I left you nursing a cracked skull in Karnaca years ago."

"Love what you've done with your, uh-" Billie dug her nails into the scratched surface of the table, and the stranger seemed to reconsider finishing his sentence. Instead he peered across the table at The Boy, eyebrows drawing together in a dark line. "Hey, I know you…"

Billie flashed The Boy a warning look. If the stranger noticed, he didn't show it.

"Have we met somewhere?" he prodded.

"I would remember if we had," said The Boy icily. Something about the way the stranger was looking at him made him uneasy. The witch Delilah had once looked at him the same way. It was a look of avarice, like the man was assessing his worth - or rather, what price he'd fetch.

"What are you doing here, Hernán?" Billie cut in.

"I run a little, ah, _ establishment _ in _ El Montón, _ now _ . _" Hernán was speaking of the haphazard jumble of buildings that made up the city's innermost district. It cast a pall over the surrounding districts. They had seen the detritus swept downriver when they made port.

"I don't want to know what seedy business you're into." There was a glint of silver as Hernán bared his teeth in something approximating a smile.

"You sure? Only I've got a job with your name on it." His expression changed, then - became more of a leer. "Or don't you want the lad to know how you used to get up to your elbows in filth for money?"

"Spit it out," growled Billie, "if you've got something worth my time. Otherwise, hit the road."

"The Overseers and I have an understanding. I'm generous with my tithes, and they keep their preaching away from my _ Casa de Flores - _it's bad for business, see? I scratch their balls, they scratch mine."

"And this interests me how?"

"Lately they haven't been honouring their end of the agreement. They've been harassing my guests… and my _ flores _. I need someone to remind them of our agreement." Billie sipped her wine as she mulled this over.

"I'm not going to make myself a fugitive on your account." Not to be deterred, Hernán forged onward.

"That's the beauty of it. I know you - you're never content to sit on your heels. In a few days you'll be on your way to Outsider knows where. Untouchable." There was an uncomfortable silence, filled with cigar smoke and throaty, hacking laughter from the other side of the tavern. The Boy looked on with interest - unlike Hernán, he knew Billie's tells, and he could see she was considering it.

"Name your price, then," she said eventually.

Hernán _ did _name his price - an amount that made Billie sit up a little straighter.

"Ah, thought that might get your interest," said the old man slyly. "I've made a small fortune since we last met."

"Stripped from anyone unfortunate enough to get caught up in your schemes, I bet," Billie shot back. She drummed her fingers on the table top. "Fine, I'll take the job - but I want half upfront."

Several minutes of verbal sparring later, they finally came to an agreement. They shook on it before Hernán left, slipping away through a back door. As soon as he was gone, Billie wiped her hand on her trousers.

"You don't trust him," said The Boy. It wasn't a question.

"Would you?"

"Men like him are rarely interesting." The Boy thoughtfully clasped his hands. "They only know betrayal and coin. And they never change."

"That's about the measure of it. Well, at least he's consistent."

The _ Knife of Dunwall _lay waiting for them at the end of the docks, the ropes creaking gently with each wave lapping at the hull. Billie let The Boy go on ahead of her, but something about the way he held himself made her shiver. With the sliver of moon shining on him, for a moment he looked just like he had the first time he'd appeared to her. The Boy turned back and gave her a quizzical look, and the illusion was broken.

Something had changed since he had discovered Daud's rune below deck. Something tiny, yes, but still.

Billie straightened her sleeve, fingertips brushing the knife she kept sheathed there, as she followed The Boy back to the ship.

•:•:•:•:•:•

Despite its name, Hernán's _ Casa de Flores _ was a grubby building with flaking paint and a cloying smell of incense and damp. Neighbouring buildings crowded around it, casting the streets in semi-permanent shadow. Slivers of sunlight only ever reached _ El Montón _once a day, when it shone down from directly overhead. But right now it was late morning, and much of the district was still asleep.

"You don't need to come in," said Billie as she and The Boy looked up at the _ Casa's _crumbling facade.

"It's fine." The Boy muttered. Billie eyed him sideways - until yesterday he had been eager to explore the sun-drenched boulevards of Cullero's waterfront, where the wealthy spent their summers in villas among sprawling vineyards and groves of orange trees. Now he was like a second shadow.

"Take my advice," she said after a moment's pause. "Don't go near Hernán's girls."

That hadn't been The Boy's intention, but if it had he would have been disappointed to find the gaggle of wilting young women in their skimpy, threadbare costumes stirred nothing in him. The entrance hall - if it could be called that - was just as sad, with dusty floorboards and gilt leaf flaking from the plaster. Heavy drapes over the windows - even in daylight hours - gave the place a claustrophobic feel. In the weak light from the chandeliers, Hernán's _ flores _ looked like ghosts.

"There y'are!" Hernán bellowed down the main stairwell by way of greeting. He beckoned for Billie to join him. "Let's talk business. _ What are you standing around for? _" he snapped, and the girls quailed at the sound of his voice. "Go tend to our guest! And bring us up some tea while you're at it!" Billie shot The Boy one last warning look as she followed the man upstairs to his 'office'. The door slammed, and there was an audible sigh of relief from the girls.

"Would you care for some tea?" A gentle voice from The Boy's side made him turn - an underfed girl with large brown eyes stared up at him. "It's mint." She drew back a little when he turned towards her. The Boy didn't spend a lot of time gazing into mirrors, but he had seen the hardness in his eyes, and the way everyone except Billie avoided looking directly at him.

"No," he awkwardly pulled away. Everything about the room - the threadbare furniture, the unemptied ashtrays - made him want to run a mile. But what had he expected?

"Then… is there something else?" she tried again. "Only, Hernán said to take care of you while you're here." The Boy shook his head, and this time she didn't bother to mask her confusion.

"You _ do _know what kind of place this is, don't you?" An older girl with a shock of red hair stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She carried herself the way Billie did, her pointed chin jutting out.

"I'm just waiting for my friend," The redhead rolled her eyes and muttered something condescending under her breath, but the first girl peered up at him, confusion giving way to utter bewilderment.

"Who _ are _you?"

Ah, there it was. The one question he couldn't answer.

"Let me tell you a story," he said instead, glancing around for a divan that didn't look too stained and sitting down. The older girl rolled her eyes again - a habit of hers, obviously - but took a seat opposite him. Her friend sat cross-legged on a floor cushion, looking lost.

"What kind of story?" She arranged her skirt - not that it did much to preserve her modesty - and folded her hands in her lap, as if she were a lady taking tea. Her fingers fluttered nervously, darting up to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears. Something jingled at her wrist - a pendant of some kind, wrapped around her skinny arm with string.

"It's a story… about the Whales." The Boy took a deep breath, and began to spin his tale. He spoke of ancient creatures, of hunters and blood and bone. The girls sat like statues, others hovering in the doorway or drifting closer as the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, a coldness creeping through the air. The room held its breath - The Boy could almost hear the Whales' song echo in his ears. It was frightening, but he had to continue, had to reach the end.  
When his tale finished, it was like a spell had broken. The _ flores _blinked as if waking from a deep sleep, rolling their stiff limbs.

"Outsider's eyes," the oldest girl breathed, all that buried anger burned away. "Did you… make that up yourself?"

"In a sense," said The Boy, his tone guarded. The look on her face reminded him uncomfortably of the child he had run into in Karnaca. He tried to get up, but the room tilted around him like he was back on Billie's ship. He sank back onto the divan, rubbing his temples.

There were footsteps on the stairs as Hernán and Billie appeared, wreathed in a cloud of pungent cigar smoke. Just how much time had passed?

_ "Hey!" _Hernán barked when he saw the girls all clustered around. He clapped his meaty hands together, and they shot to their feet guiltily. His Dunwall accent broadened as his temper flared. "Where's my bloody tea, then? Go on, move it!" The girls scattered, some still in a half-daze, and The Boy struggled upright and went to join Billie. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his pallid face and the way he swayed on his feet.

"Are you _ drunk?" _ she demanded as soon as they were out the door. The Boy shook his head, though his head was already starting to clear. The air in _ El Montón _ wasn't exactly fresh, but it was better than the cloying perfume of the _ Casa. _"Then what in the Void is wrong with you?"

"You just answered your own question, Billie Lurk."

"You're nothing but trouble, you know that?" Billie couldn't help the edge of concern that crept into her voice. A movement at the window caught her good eye - Hernán stared at them through the grimy glass, his expression unreadable. "Come on," she said, turning away. "Let's get out of this trash heap."


	4. IV

**IV**

Billie stalked through the Culleran night market, weaving between colourful stalls and dodging the crowds, all while keeping her eye firmly on the back of Overseer Garza's masked head. Unlike her, he strode confidently down the centre of the street, certain that everyone would get out of his way. He was right; locals and tourists alike parted before the sight of his mask and uniform. He had no reason to look over his shoulder. He was as oblivious to Billie's presence as a rat in the sights of a hawk.

Jacobo Garza was Hernán's biggest concern. Supposedly, they had an agreement - Garza and his squad wouldn't report the full extent of Hernan's sordid little business to his superiors, as long as their visits to the _Casa _were kept discreet, and at a generous discount. The Abbey might take a dim view of such activities, but if Hernán had one talent, it was exploiting people's weaknesses.

Of course, such an agreement was as sturdy as the foundations it was built on, and Garza wasn't content to let Hernán, odious as he was, feel like he was getting the better end of the deal.

Personally, Billie had no sympathy for Hernán whatsoever, but it wasn't fair on the girls who got caught in the crossfire. She knew how easily men like Garza could resort to using their fists.

Hernán's request was simple, really. "Don't kill 'im," he'd said, "or you'll have the whole bleedin' Abbey breathing down my neck. Just rough 'im up a bit. Remind 'im that I am not a man to fuck around with - 'scuse my Culleran. You're a smart one, you'll figure somethin' out."

"And what will you do when he forgets himself again?" Billie had wanted to know.

"Then I'll find some other bloody-handed mercenary to put the fear of the Void in 'im. Outsider knows there's enough of you out there." Though Billie hadn't shown it, that last remark had stung. Mostly because it was true. She liked to think she was, on some level, better than the thugs who lent their sword arms to any bastard with the coin to pay for them. But she knew she was just fooling herself - without the Outsider's gifts, the only thing that set her apart was finesse. She hadn't mentioned it to The Boy, but she'd come to rely on those borrowed talents, and she felt their absence like a pit in the depths of her chest.

The Boy… Billie grit her teeth, realising her thoughts had unconsciously circled back to him, the little shit. If he wasn't careful, one of these days he was going to get them both in trouble. Even Hernán had taken an interest in him.

"Interesting company you're keeping these days," he'd said, exhaling a stream of pungent cigar smoke across his desk. "Boy's got a touch of the _otherworldly _about him." Billie had looked at him sharply and told him to stop talking rot, but the man's irritating leer hadn't wavered. He suspected something, and that made Billie nervous.  
_As soon as this job's done, _she told herself, _we'll leave this Void-forsaken hole behind. _

Up ahead, Overseer Garza turned into a street leading away from the markets, and Billie's thoughts snapped back to the job at hand. Careful not to suddenly change course and draw notice to herself, she threaded her way to the edge of the crowd and followed him around the corner, keeping her distance. The row of cigar shops and pubs sloped steadily uphill, gaggles of noisy tourists spilling out into the street.

_"T'was last year in the Month of Rain," _rang out a voice with a thick Dunwall accent. _"How I wish I was in Dunwall now!" _joined in a handful more. They were tuneless and wobbly with liquor, but for a moment Billie was back on the docks of her childhood, picking pockets while keeping a wary eye out for the City Watch.

That gave her an idea.

Noise erupted behind her as half the drunks on the street joined in the song. _"Damn their eyes, wicked lies! Full of strife is a whaler's life…" _

This was Billie's chance. Without slowing her pace, she swiped an empty jug some tipsy reveller had left in a planter, tipping the dregs down her front. The smell of vinegary wine hit her, and she wrinkled her nose. Perfect.

She let the raucous singing mask her footsteps as she stole up behind the oblivious Garza. The noise and lights of the pubs fell away as she followed him up the hill to a more dimly lit end of the street. _"Mind yer tongue, keep yer gun aimed low, or ye'll wind up on Slaughterhouse Row…" _

Garza let out a satisfying _'oof' _when Billie barged sideways into him, almost knocking him off his feet as she took him by surprise. He recovered quickly, his hand flying to the grip of his sabre.

"Hey!" he barked, "What do you think you're doing?" Billie pretended to quail at the sight of his mask.

"S-sorry, mister Overseer." she slurred, pouring as much of the wharfs of Dunwall into her accent as she could stand. To her ears she sounded ridiculous, but Garza was unlikely to notice. She let the jug slip through her fingers and made a half-hearted, fumbling attempt to catch it. It shattered on the cobbled street, showering Garza's boots in wine and bits of pottery.

"Ugh." Garza muttered something under his breath in Culleran, but the disgust in his voice needed no translation. The liquor soaking into Billie's clothes was doing its job. "Typical _extranjero _scum," Garza went on, giving Billie a rough shove, "filling our streets with your trash." Billie made a show of stumbling backward into the nearest building. "Go on, get out of my sight. Go back to Dunwall, where you belong."

"Go roll yourself, Abbey pig!" Billie hollered back, with a rude gesture in case Garza didn't pick up on the slang. She needn't have worried - he lunged for her with a snarl, and she ducked under his outstretched arms and took off at a loping run for the nearest alley.

She didn't get far. She'd been expecting it, but the weight of Garza's body as he tackled her to the alley floor still knocked the breath out of her. A gloved hand wrapped around her neck.

"Your kind might get away with disrespecting the Abbey in Dunwall, _puta," _Garza spat, his fingers squeezing Billie's throat, "But we'll see how funny you think you are with the heretic's mark burned into your ugly face!" Billie waited for him to reach for his handcuffs, before she twisted in his grasp and jabbed the fingertips of her skeletal hand into the eye holes of his mask.

Garza let out a shriek as Billie ripped his mask off, fumbling blindly at the air. Billie scrambled to her feet, weighing the mask in her hand. It was heavy, cast from solid steel. Garza grasped the uneven wall of the alley as he pulled himself upright.

"I'll kill you, _bruja! _" Billie's fingers had left angry red scratches across his eyelids - she probably hadn't done any permanent damage, but he was starting to panic. He'd lost his bearings. She gave a sharp, high-pitched whistle, and his head snapped in her direction. Too late for him, though.

"Not a _bruja, _" she said, whipping Garza's mask through the air and catching him on his temple with a sickening _crack. _The overseer went down like the bare-knuckle fighters Daud had taken her to see as a child. "Just a bloody-handed mercenary."

The alley wasn't far from _El Montón _. The gloomy streets would be cast in near darkness now - a simple enough jaunt for Billie, even with an unconscious Overseer to lug around. Billie took a handful of Garza's black tabard, hauled him over her shoulder, and, with one last look to make sure no curious eyes were watching, set off for the _Casa de Flores._

•:•:•:•:•:•

To say Hernán wasn't exactly thrilled with Billie's idea was an understatement.

"Outsider's arse, Foster! Why'd you have to bring him here?" he demanded, eyes bulging at the sight of Billie climbing through his office window with Garza slung over her shoulder.

"Louder, Hernán, I don't think they heard you down the end of the street." She dropped the unconscious man unceremoniously on the floor and slammed the window shut behind her. Hernán slid out from behind his desk, hovering anxiously while also trying to give Garza a wide berth.

"I said to knock him 'round a bit, not crack his bleedin' head open! Look, he's dripping claret all over the rug!"

"So help me move him."

Billie tried not to think too hard about the noises coming from the neighbouring room as they manoeuvred Garza into an armchair. Hernán watched, tight-lipped, while Billie bound the Overseer's wrists and ankles to the chair with ruthless efficiency.

"What now?" he asked when she had finished. "Wait for him to come round?"

"I don't have time for that. Have you got any Dust on you?" _Dust _was Dunwall slang for a powdered stimulant, popular with whalers and women of the night alike. It was illegal, of course, and dangerous, but as Billie expected, Hernán grunted and reached into his pocket.

Billie dabbed a pinch of the powder just above Garza's upper lip. When his eyelids fluttered, she slapped him soundly across the face. He came to with a start, gasping at the searing pain that was undoubtedly lancing through his bruised skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, the scratches on his eyelids red and angry looking.

"Argh! My eyes!"

"You're fine, Abbey pig." Billie folded her arms and waited for Garza to stop struggling against the bindings on his limbs.

"_Bruja!" _Garza's head turned blindly in the direction of her voice. "You'll burn for this! On the High Overseer, I swear it!"

"Witch, eh?" Hernán looked sideways at Billie. She ignored him.

"Hernán! I hear you, you spineless rat!" Garza snarled, jerking his body so hard his chair scraped along the floorboards. Hernán took a sharp step back. "I'll have you and your whores turned out on the street! You'll never work in this city again! You'll be sucking slime out of the gutter to survive!"

"I think you gave him too much Dust," Hernán muttered. Billie rolled her eyes and drew one of her many blades, pressing the tip to Garza's throat. He took the hint, lapsing into silence punctuated only by his ragged breaths.

"For your sake, Garza, you'd better keep your mouth shut, or I'm going to knock you out again and leave you on the steps of the Abbey doused in perfume and dressed like one of Hernán's girls. Got it?" The man gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Billie allowed herself a small measure of satisfaction. _Still got it. _

"Alright," she said, sheathing her blade and turning to Hernán. "I think he's ready to listen to you now."

•:•:•:•:•:•

In the early hours of the morning when Billie stepped back onto the desk of the Knife of Dunwall, she found the lamps still lit, though they were burning low. The Boy was slumped over at the little table where they often ate, his head resting on his arms. Billie stopped in the doorway to the cabin, a feeling she couldn't name filling her at the sight of him. He'd waited up for her.

She lingered in the doorway, unsure whether to wake him or not. She briefly considered draping her jacket over him to keep him warm, before remembering that it was filthy with alley dirt and soaked in booze.

In the end she cleared her throat softly, and he slowly unfolded himself, blinking away whatever dream he'd been having.

"You're back." His voice was groggy, and Billie let out an amused breath.

"'Course I am, Boy. Now go to bed."


	5. V

**V**

A few hours of sleep later, Billie left once more for the _Casa de Flores _to collect her payment. The Boy accompanied her, his face turned up to the sky as golden morning sunlight gave way to a baking Culleran afternoon.

"Are you sure you want to come?" Billie had asked him. He knew what she meant - the _Casa _was a sad, dingy hole. The Boy was no stranger to the way human beings exploited one another. Over the centuries, he'd seen the worst the world had to offer. He'd been unable to look away.

But how could he explain the odd kinship he felt to those sad-eyed girls? _We all have our cages, _Billie had said. Well, the _Casa _was a cage, its _Flores _trapped there by circumstance.

"We should walk along the sea wall afterwards," he said, to appease her. Billie made a face, but he could tell she liked the idea.

They meandered through streets filled with throngs of people, tourists and street hawkers alike. A woman with coils of braids piled atop her head flashed a bright grin at Billie and called something out - her words were lost in the bustle of the crowd, but Billie's mouth twisted in a dry smile anyway.

It was almost noon when they reached _El Montón _, and the light created a stark, bright line between the dense rows of buildings. The Boy kept to the light and watched his shadow disappear beneath him, savouring the warmth. He didn't think he would ever grow tired of sunlight. Sometimes he could almost forget the bone-deep cold of the Void. Sometimes.

When they stepped into the musky dark of the _Casa de Flores, _the girl with the odd charm on her wrist was there to greet them.

"Hernán said you'd be coming," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "He said to send you upstairs right away." Billie nodded and made for the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder and gave The Boy a meaningful look.

"I won't be long."

"Um…" The Boy turned, and the girl trailed off, biting her lip. "I don't know if you remember me," she said. She glanced around nervously, her fingers darting up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'm Amada. I - _we - _were wondering if you would tell us another story."

"Your last story was the only thing any of these fools could talk about all day," said a familiar voice. The red-headed woman from the day before stood leaning in a doorway. She still sounded perpetually bored, but there was spark in her eyes now, as if she was daring him to refuse.

"Button it, Marta!" Amada snapped, though she anxiously toyed with her bracelet.

"So, are you going to give us another story or not?" Without waiting for an answer, Marta crossed the hall and planted herself cross-legged on a floor cushion. Already there were girls peeking out from behind doors, excitedly whispering to each other that yesterday's mysterious guest had returned. It seemed Marta hadn't been exaggerating.

"I can tell you another story." The Boy slowly sat down, on the floor so the others could gather around him. They crowded in, eager to hear what he had to say. He thought for a moment, taking in their eager faces, letting the words come to him.

This time, he told them of summer storms, of lightning and howling winds, of a ship lost beneath the ocean, forever adrift among giants. Time seemed to grind to a halt, dust motes frozen in the thin beams of light that made it through the thick blinds.

The Whales were ancient, older than the _Flores _could fathom. But, he told them, they were free, free to wander the endless ocean as they pleased.

The tale ended, and the spell broke. Time began to move again, and when The Boy looked up he was surprised to see tear-streaked faces all around him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean-

"-No," said Amada, smiling and wiping her kohl-streaked cheeks. "It was beautiful." She reached out as if to reassure him, the charm on her wrist jangling. Too late, The Boy realised it was carved from whalebone.

"No, _don't-" _he tried to draw away, but to no avail. He felt his lungs fill with seawater as the charm brushed against his skin - then he was falling, falling, falling, and the world went dark.

•:•:•:•:•:•

"That was some good work you did last night, getting that bounder Garza to see things my way." Hernán poured himself a generous slug of pale rum, then offered the bottle to Billie. She waved it away. "Even if you did get blood all over my rug," he added as an afterthought.

"You realise it's only going to last until the Abbey decides to raze this whole seedy district to the ground, right?"

"Bah, I have friends here and there. I'll scrape by. I always do."

_And you'll leave those poor girls to whatever fate awaits them, _thought Billie. She regarded him coolly across the table, her arms folded.

"So there's just the matter of my pay."

"Of course, of course. It's nuffin' but business with you, isn't it?" Hernán shuffled over to a safe in the wall and began to work at the lock - but not before making sure his body was between it and Billie's line of sight. "You know," he said offhandedly, "if you happen to get tired of the lad, we can always use new blood here at the _Casa _. Pretty face like that would be popular with the toffs."

"You're disgusting."

"I'm just saying." Hernán gave a shrug. "I never pegged you, of all people, as the maternal type. Thought you might want your freedom back, is all."

"Just give me my money." Billie wanted to throttle the vile little man, but consoled herself with the thought that she would soon be spending his money. If her luck held, she would never have to step foot in this place again.

Hernán carried over several rolls of coins and began to count them out, letting each one clink against the desk as if to show off its weight.

"Alright, that's fifty Bowheads- _what the?" _Billie and Hernán both gave a start as a chorus of screams rang out downstairs. They burst from the office and rushed to the edge of the banister overlooking the entrance hall. Hernán girls were clustered around The Boy's limp form splayed out on the floorboards below. His eyes were wide open, unseeing - and black as pitch.

Billie hissed a curse and vaulted the banister. A puff of dust rose up as her boots hit the floorboards, but already she had crossed the room, shoving hysterical girls aside. She leaned over The Boy to hide him from Hernán's view.

"Hey! Wake up!" She slapped his cheek, but his head merely rolled to the side.

"What happened?" Hernán growled at the nearest of the girls. He was slightly out of breath.

"He was telling us a story, and Amada was talking to him and, and - he just dropped like a stone!" The girl was tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.

"It was that bone charm she carries around," said another girl, uttering a yelp as she received Marta's sharp elbow in her side. "Well it _was," _she added sulkily.

Billie hardly heard any of it. "Boy, you need to wake up now," she said, taking his pale hand in hers. His skin was icy cold.  
"Shit," she muttered.

"I knew it! I bloody _knew _there was something wrong about him," said Hernán, his voice rising above the girls' worried chatter.

"Hernán," began Billie warningly, but the man wasn't listening. He loomed over them, pointing a meaty finger.

"It's him, isn't it!" His voice rose to a shout. "The black-eyed bastard 'imself!"

"Don't be absurd," Billie snapped, even as her heart dropped into her shoes. She scooped The Boy into her arms, barely registering how frail his body felt. His head lolled against her shoulder. She got to her feet, but as she straightened up Hernán stepped in front of her.  
"Get out of my way."

"What witchcraft have you brought into my house, Megan Foster?" Hernán's tanned face had gone ashen, his jaw working furiously. "Garza was right about you." Behind him, the _Flores _clung to one another. _"Bruja. Witch." _

"We're all cursed!" someone cried out. A ripple of panic went through the room.

_"El Forastero!" _

"Someone fetch the Overseers!" some of the girls were already making a beeline for the front door.

Billie turned on her heel and ran.

She took the stairs three at a time, moving faster than she had in weeks. The Boy's lifeless body barely weighed her down at all - it was as if whatever it was that made him _him _had left his body, evaporated like dew in the sun. She hated it - but she couldn't think about that now. She had to reach the ship, had to get them both as far away from here as humanly possible.

She ran to the window in Hernán's office and kicked out at the latch. It snapped easily, the windows slamming open and shattering against the wall outside. There was a roof ledge directly across from the window, and Billie leapt for it. Her boots cleared the edge easily, and she let her momentum carry her forward.

"Wait!" a desperate cry made Billie skid to a halt. At the window were two of Hernán's girls, a mousy-looking one and an older one with shocking red hair. The older one had her arms around the other.

"It was Amada's charm that set your friend off," she called across the gap. "If the Overseers find her here, she'll never see the sun again."

"So run." Billie nearly kicked a tile from the roof with frustration.

"Take her with you," said the redhead, pushing the sobbing girl towards the window. "At least out of the city. She doesn't deserve to die."

Billie hesitated. In the days and weeks to come, she would remind herself of that, to stave off the guilt. She thought about the treacherous route she would have to take across Cullero's rooftops. The girl was underfed, had probably not left the _Casa _in months, maybe years. Even as Billie hesitated, she knew she could never agree to take her. Even as she shook her head, she knew the ghost of that sad-eyed young woman would haunt her dreams in the weeks to come.

"Give me the charm."

"What?"

"Throw it to me! _Hurry!" _Billie snarled. "I can't save the girl, but I can make sure she doesn't get caught with that bone charm." There was a pause as the woman fumbled with Amada's bracelet. She drew back her arm and hurled it across the roof gap. It landed on the tiles, and Billie bent to retrieve it.

"Hide her until everything dies down," she said, turning away. She still cradled The Boy in her arms. "And pray the overseers don't find her."

•:•:•:•:•:•

Billie made it halfway across the city by rooftop before the streets flooded with Overseers. She hadn't even thought they had that strong a presence in Cullero, but every time she peered over the edge of the roof, there they were, swarming like ants.

There was a wide road between her and the docks, with no way across that didn't involve heading down to street level. Realising her best chance would be to wait until nightfall, Billie carried The Boy to a sheltered rooftop garden and lay him down in the shade.

How long had he been like this when she caught him with Daud's rune? She sank down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest. He'd seemed to be able to fight… whatever it was that was holding him under, once she took the rune from his hand. This time, though…

She held Amada's charm up to the light. It was a simple carving; a single piece of whalebone shaped like the hull of a ship. It dangled from the frayed thread between her fingers, spinning slightly. Tiny runic symbols had been etched into the surface of the bone. It made her shudder to wonder what they might mean.

Once, when she bore the Outsider's borrowed gift, every charm she picked up would strengthen her connection to the Void. Now, she couldn't feel a thing.

She would have to go back, she realised with dismay. Back to Shindaerey Peak, to the quarry where the Void had spilled through into their world. She'd left something unfinished, and although she didn't know what it was, The Boy would have no future - not really - unless she fixed that.

But first, they had to get off this Void-forsaken rooftop.

•:•:•:•:•:•

The Boy opened his eyes, and screamed.

His voice, like him, was lost in the endless darkness. He was drowning - no, not quite drowning, but he had to fight for every terror-filled breath. It felt as if the air was being squeezed from his lungs. He was neither floating nor submerged. He just _was. _Such was the nature of the Void.

He had, not so long ago, brought people here to talk with them, and toy with them. He had looked into the depths of men's hearts, and what he saw there had repulsed him. He had given away slivers of himself, and watched how people made use of - or squandered - his gifts.

But he was not that… _thing. _Not anymore.

A shape loomed out of the shadows above him. A Whale, on its endless journey through the murk. He used to drift along in the Whales' wake, speaking with them, learning their stories. Sometimes for centuries at a time. The thought staggered him now, with his tiny mortal lifespan. Still, perhaps he could speak to them now. Perhaps they would help him find a way out of the Void.

Swallowing down his panic, he sucked as much of that soupy air into his lungs as he could. The cold went deep into his bones and clung to him.

"Leviathan," he shouted. The darkness seemed to eat the words as soon as they left his mouth. Would the Whale even hear him? "How do I get out of here?" The Whale gave no indication it had heard him. The Boy wanted to scream again.

_Out? _

They weren't words, not in the usual sense. More like impressions, or pictures you had to interpret the right way. The Whale remembered him. The great beast sent him images, one after the other. Fond memories, if Whales could feel fondness, of The Boy dressed all in black, drifting among them as he watched empires rise and fall.

_Yes, _he told the great beast. _I don't belong here. Not anymore. _

Another shape, the shadow of an immense Whale that dwarfed the first, passed right over The Boy's head. He ducked instinctively.

_But we don't want you to leave, _it said. An icy dread gripped The Boy's chest.

_Why? _He fought to stay calm. He'd stood as their equal once, but through their eyes he saw himself as he was now. He looked like a frightened, lost child.

_Who will we tell our stories to? Who will know us, not as beasts, but as gods. As Leviathans. _

_I will, _The Boy said, desperation creeping into the images he showed them, of him sitting with the _Flores, _telling his stories as they listened, enraptured.  
_I can't stay here. _He tried to make them see, force them to understand. He knew what freedom felt like, had tasted sunlight. A moment longer in this prison would destroy him.

The Whales' pity rolled through The Boy's mind. It was worse than even the cruellest laughter. He screamed again, this time with rage as well as fear, the sound swallowed up by the Void.


	6. VI

**VI**

Billie alternated between watching the streets from the edge of the roof and dozing with her back against the chimney. There was always the risk that the owner of the rooftop garden would discover their hiding place, so she kept one hand on her dagger, and her ears trained on the door to the stairwell.  
Afternoon stretched into dusk, but The Boy remained comatose, his skin icy to the touch despite the summer heat.

"If you can hear me, Boy," Billie told him softly, "I'm sorry. I wish I knew how to fix you."

The last of the afternoon sun faded, and Billie knew she had to stay alert now. Whale oil lamps flickered on. Overseers patrolled the streets, but they were tired after spending the day turning the city upside down, hunting for their _bruja _. This was good. Fatigue dulled the senses. It would make them careless.

Behind Billie, The Boy went rigid as a ragged scream tore loose from his throat. The Overseers patrolling the street below faltered, turning their masked faces in the direction of the sound. Billie's blood ran cold.

_"Shit, shit, SHIT," _she hissed, pushing herself away from the roof's edge. A second later she was at The Boy's side, propping him up. His face contorted, as he screamed again. Billie fought the urge to clap her hand over his mouth. The Boy's eyes shot open, no longer black, but grey as a winter thunderhead.

"Billie," he gasped, sucking in air as if he had just surfaced from underwater.

"Yeah, I'm here." Billie took his hands between hers, and tried to rub some warmth into his icy fingers. "Listen," she said urgently, "we need to move, _now. _The city is swarming with Overseers, and if they catch us…" She didn't need to finish that sentence. She could practically smell the witch pyres already. She helped The Boy to his feet, but he sagged against the wall, his legs threatening to betray him at any moment.

"I can walk," he protested, when Billie went to grab him.

"Rot. You're about to keel over."

Footsteps pounded on the stairs leading up to the roof, and they both tensed. Billie pressed a finger to her lips, then dropped to one knee and gestured for The Boy to climb on her back. He slung his lanky arms around her shoulders, and she took his weight. At least he no longer felt as if he was about to float away.

"You'd better hold on tight," she said, before taking a running jump off the edge of the roof.

She landed on a narrow balcony just as the door to the roof slammed open. Heavy footfalls filled the air, then petered out. Billie felt The Boy holding his breath. The searchers muttered to one another, overturning planting tables and kicking aside tools as they searched. It was only a matter of time before they thought to look over the edge of the roof.  
The balcony had an ornate door, inlaid with frosted glass. Billie pressed her face to it, squinting. She could just make out flickering lamplight and a shadow of movement - they would have to find another way to the ground.

Thick, ugly steam pipes smothered the elegance of the building. Such was the price of industrial progress. They connected the whole neighbourhood, twisting and turning all the way down to ground level. All Billie had to do was reach them.  
"This was much easier back when I had your mark," she grumbled under her breath, hauling herself up onto the balcony railing. The Boy didn't answer, but she felt his grip tighten around her shoulders. She twisted and hung from the balcony, then, with her teeth gritted in concentration, dropped the last few feet.

The bricks scraped at The Boy's elbows as Billie pressed against the side of the building, but he didn't complain. They inched their way along the pipe until they reached the corner. A tangle of signs advertising Cullero's many tourist delights gave Billie the hand-and-footholds she needed to climb to the next floor down.

She continued her slow, steady progress around the building until they found a deserted yard she could drop into without being spotted. She leaned against the fence for a minute, breathing heavily. The Boy loosened his grip and slid off her back.

"I'm slowing you down," he said, stating the obvious. Billie gave him a pointed once-over.

"You'll slow me down more if you try to walk in your state." The Boy said nothing, but his lips thinned stubbornly, as they always did when he disagreed with her. Billie huffed with impatience. "I half carried you down a mountain," she reminded him. "I can carry you for a few more blocks." She motioned for him to climb on her back again. The Boy didn't look happy about it, but didn't try to argue again.

They stole along side streets, cutting through courtyards and taking dingy alleys when they could. More than once, Billie had to double back to avoid guard posts, where Whale oil lamps cast whole blocks in stark, artificial light. Gradually, the neighbourhoods became shabbier as they neared the docks. The promise of safety beckoned.

Perhaps, if Billie hadn't been carrying The Boy, she might have paid more attention to the shadows in the next alley she turned into. Perhaps her mind was simply elsewhere - wondering how they were going to refuel the ship, or thinking of that poor girl whose bone charm she carried in her pocket. Perhaps the old drunk lying in the alley tripped her on purpose, hoping to beg a few coins off her while she was caught off guard.  
When Billie's foot connected with his ankle, she caught herself on the wall with her Void-corrupted hand. The vagrant's jaundiced eyes widened, and she snatched her hand behind her back, far too late.

_"Bruja," _the old man whispered hoarsely, scrambling backwards on all fours to the alley mouth. _"Bruja!" _His voice rang out loud and clear into the night. Billie made a grab for him, but he shrieked and darted around the corner with surprising swiftness. _"BRUJA! BRUJA!" _

"_ Damn _it!" Billie hoisted The Boy higher on her back and took off down the alley. It opened up into a seemingly deserted avenue, but before she could catch her breath, an Overseer patrol rounded the corner. For a terrible moment, time slowed to a crawl.

_"HALT!" _The Overseers reached for their weapons. More shouting and pounding footsteps filled the air, coming from the direction of the alley. Billie spat a curse and vaulted a low wall, landing clumsily with The Boy's extra weight, and crossed an ornamental courtyard. She kicked the metal gate on the other side open with a clang, and half-fell down a set of stone stairs in her haste to put as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible.

There was a cellar entrance in an alcove right below street level. It was little more than a rotten wood on rusty hinges, but Billie deposited The Boy against the damp wall and gave it an experimental kick. It was bloated and stiff, but it creaked inward a few inches. She kicked it again and the door fell inward, a waft of stale air greeting them. There were no stairs, nor a ladder - just a yawning dark portal to Void knew where. Billie stole a glance over her shoulder. The lights behind them bobbed closer, the shouting growing louder every second. She grabbed The Boy's shoulders and pushed him toward the gaping doorway.

"What are you-"

"Shut up and listen to me." Billie's voice was low, urgent. "You need to get back to the ship. Crawl if you have to, but keep out of sight, and don't stop until you get there." She gave The Boy a nudge, but he caught himself in the doorframe.

"Billie, don't do this," his voice came out in a hoarse whisper, his eyes wide and, for the first time since Billie had known him, full of fear. She knew that if she hesitated, her resolve would waver. She hardened her heart, and pasted a scowl on her face.

"You're slowing me down, _Boy, _" she snapped, planting her good hand in the middle of his chest. "There's no sense in both of us dying tonight." With a mighty shove she sent him tumbling through the doorway, slamming the cellar door shut behind him.

There was no time to wonder if she had done the right thing. All she could do was hope she hadn't just doomed them both.

She turned and ran, and didn't look back.

•:•:•:•:•:•

Unburdened, Billie tore through the neighbourhood like a whirlwind. She turned and drew her blade as one of her pursuers lunged at her. She angled it up beneath his mask and cut a ragged tear in the flesh of his throat, painting the ground crimson where he landed. A bullet zinged past her head and hit an ornamental statue, which exploded in a cloud of debris. She was far too exposed. The Overseers had every advantage - superior numbers, firepower, and a familiarity with the city that she couldn't hope to match. Her best hope was to get to higher ground.

She spied an open window and leapt for it, bursting into a dimly lit tenement that stank of mildew and sweat, as well as something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on. A woman shrieked at her in Culleran, joined immediately by a baby's outraged wail. In two strides Billie crossed the room and yanked open the closest door, finding herself in a long hallway. Banging and screaming erupted from the neighbouring apartment as her pursuers forced their way in, taking down anyone unfortunate enough to get in their way.

She ducked into a grimy stairwell, summoning the energy from somewhere within herself to scale the stairs at a run. The building echoed with the violence unfolding below, so she climbed until she could climb no more. The strange smell grew stronger as she ascended - it was sickly sweet, with a hint of wood rot underneath. She gagged and flung her arm over her nose and mouth, venturing into the hallway at the top of the stairs.

There was a low hum coming from somewhere, a buzzing that scratched at the back of her mind. It rose in intensity as her feet faltered, and she looked around, disconcerted. Her gaze fell on a tattered paper sign pasted on the wall, and her breath left her in a gasp of dismay.

The buzzing reached a fever pitch as a swarm of Bloodflies burst into the hallway. Billie threw herself to the floor as they shot past her head, aiming for the fleshy parts of her face. Her hand went to her crossbow, but before she could fire off a bolt, there was a teeth-rattling explosion, the wet smack of bloodfly bodies raining down around her, and the hallway filled with thick, grey smoke.

Billie's throat and eyes burned as the acrid smoke enveloped her. Gasping for air, she fumbled to catch her bearings. She stumbled, her fingers brushing something that felt like a door handle...

Lights exploded behind Billie's remaining eye as something hit her across the temple, and the world went dark.

•:•:•:•:•:•

The Boy lay in the pitch black cellar, winded by his fall. Gradually, the sound of shouting and gunfire faded. Billie's parting words still rattled around his head. His racing pulse slowed to a steady thud, until the only sound he could hear was his own breathing. Then, stiffly, he sat up.  
The dirt floor of the cellar was cool and uneven beneath his palms as he pushed himself to his feet. His ankle twinged painfully when he put his weight on it - he'd landed awkwardly, caught off guard.

He let his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. A sliver of moonlight pierced the gloom through a tiny gap in the cellar door, just enough to make out his surroundings by. Someone had once kept potatoes here - there were still a few scattered here and there, shriveled and sprouting. They filled the space with an earthy, rotten smell. There was a trapdoor in the ceiling, boarded over. No way out.

A draught of cool air drew The Boy's attention to the far end of the cellar. Resting a hand on the wall, he followed the draught to its source; a ragged hole in the brickwork, barely big enough for someone his size to crawl through. He dropped to his knees and peered into the gloom. The space beyond was filled with trash - splintered barrels, piles of rags; refuse thrown away and soon forgotten. These cellars must all be connected, he realised. He ducked through the hole, wincing as he grazed his elbow on a jagged brick.

_Keep moving, Boy, _said Billie's voice in the back of his mind, coaxing him onwards. _Don't you dare stop now. _

_Billie. _The Boy balled his hands into fists, furious with himself. She'd been right - despite the millennia he had spent walking in the dreams of strangers, channelling the Void's power, he really was as helpless as a new-born. Worse than that, he had no idea where she was - or if she was even still alive.

He found an archway cut into the wall. Beyond it lay a set of stone steps leading upward, and a wooden door. The Boy pressed his ear to it, straining his ears for any sign of life. Hearing nothing, he turned the handle and let the door creak open.  
It opened into a cramped shop, silent but for the ticking of a clock on the counter. The wide, leaded window at the front looked out upon a boulevard strung with hanging lanterns.

The Boy stopped dead in the middle of the floor. He _knew _this shop. He and Billie had passed it several times on their walks through the city, though they never gave it any thought. The old woman who owned the place hawked useless trinkets to tourists, mementos of Cullero. Now that he was inside, he noticed oddities among the poppets stuffed with straw and ships fashioned from driftwood.

_Bone charms? _He wondered, moving closer. No, not quite. The slivers of bone were carved with runes, but they were meaningless gibberish. The irony wasn't lost on him - he'd watched generations of sailors painstakingly carve charms from the bones of sea giants, following the Old Ways that the Abbey of the Everyman were determined to stamp out. Yet here was a shop pawning off cheap imitations to tourists, and no-one batted an eye. At least, not as long as it kept foreigners' coin flowing into Cullero.

The Boy shook his head in disgust and turned to the front door of the shop. He would slip out unnoticed, he decided, and head straight for _The Knife of Dunwall. _With any luck, Billie would already be there. She would berate him for taking so long, but she would forgive him.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, and stepped out into the warm night. The street was deserted, windows shuttered tight - no doubt everyone was spooked by the Overseers' presence.

The Boy hastily ducked behind a low wall as a guard patrol turned the corner ahead of him. Their lantern beams missed him by inches, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest, but they didn't break their stride.

"Did you hear?" one was saying. "The Overseers caught that _bruja _they were tearing up the city over." The Boy's blood ran cold.

_"No," _he whispered.

"Poor bastard," said the other guard, with feeling. "Come dawn, they'll be nothing but ash."

_Billie, _thought The Boy desperately. He ground his knuckles against the wall. He was no stranger to blood on his hands, but this was different. He'd watched Billie grow up in Daud's shadow. She'd lost parts of herself, spent decades relying on naught but the edge of her blades. She'd looked into the eyes of a god she despised, and then forgiven him. But more than any of that, she was _family. _The Boy, who had once seen everything, suddenly found he couldn't imagine a world that didn't have Billie Lurk in it.

The guards' voices faded as they passed, their lanterns sweeping the deserted street, but The Boy had all but forgotten them. The seed of an idea took root in his mind. It was reckless, and desperate, and the voice in his head that sounded like Billie was already yelling at him for being a fool. But it was all he had, and he couldn't sit by and leave Billie to burn at the hands of dogmatic sadists.

He dove back into the shop and began to rummage through the shelves at a feverish pace. An ugly lamp toppled to the floor, scattering glass shards everywhere. The Boy hardly noticed. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck as he examined fake after worthless fake - a chicken bone here, a fragment of rib there - with mounting frustration. He snatched them up and hurled them aside. There wasn't so much as a ripple of power in them.

As he pushed his damp hair from his forehead, he caught a glimpse of something white and gleaming in a battered cabinet. The Boy's pale reflection rippled as he drew closer. He reached out with a trembling hand and unlatched the door.

The charm was flat and vaguely circular, with a raised edge. Runes for warding off evil spirits were etched into its surface. The Boy drew his sleeve up to cover his hand and carefully reached into the cabinet. The charm sat cold and heavy in his palm, the chill reaching for him greedily through the thin fabric. Whale bone. This would do what he needed it to.

He swallowed hard and shoved his prize deep into his pocket, then padded quickly to the open door. He gave one last glance up and down the street before slipping away, setting a brisk pace despite his injured ankle's protests. He needed to get to the _Knife of Dunwall, _before it was too late.


	7. VII

**VII**

The first thing Billie became aware of was the pain lancing through her skull. It felt as if her head was about to burst. Then she realised her wrists and ankles were bound, and her gut churned with the realisation that she was strapped into a steel chair. They'd taken her eyepatch, the bastards, along with her jacket and boots. It had been a warm summer's night, but the room was bitterly cold.

A door opened, and Billie cracked her eye open. The room swam dizzyingly around her, and she caught an impression of an Overseer's black tabard against grim tiled walls, a low metal table, and a mirrored ceiling before the searing light hit her.  
She howled and squeezed her eye shut, but the light relentlessly burned through her eyelids. She wanted to vomit. After what felt like an eternity the lamp shut off. Formless blobs danced across her vision. She forced herself to breathe deeply, not daring to open her eye again.

"Apologies for the rude wake-up call, dear _bruja," _said a rough voice. "You may call me Inquisitor Varas. You led us a merry chase, I must admit, though it's fortunate that Overseer Garza found you when he did. A bloodfly infestation is not something to be careless around." Billie tensed at Garza's name, although she tried not to show it. That explained why she had been hit so savagely. She'd bitten her tongue at some point - her mouth tasted of blood and ash.

"Garza will, of course, be along shortly," the voice went on. "But first, you will answer my questions."

_Sure I will, _thought Billie. A shadow moved in front of her, but she kept her eye closed.

"Kindly look at me, Ms. Foster." Billie's stomach gave a sickening lurch. There was only one person in this Void-forsaken city who knew her by that name…

_Hernán, you rat bastard. _

She let her eye open a crack - the man standing over wore an expression of pure boredom. For all he seemed to care, he could have been looking at an insect, not a human being. He made a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat.

"That's better." The Inquisitor reached behind him and picked a small object up off the metal table. He held it out between his thumb and forefinger as if it were tainted. Amada's bone charm.

"Do you recognise this?"

"Never seen it before," Billie lied. Varas stared at her, and she let him. The silence stretched on a beat too long.

"It was among your belongings." Another silence. Billie shrugged - or at least, she tried to. The restraints made movement almost impossible. Varas said nothing, but she knew what he was up to - he wanted her to keep talking. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. Eventually he sighed and replaced the bone charm on the table.

"Ms. Foster, you murdered a good, pious man earlier tonight. His name was Tiburcio. I'll warn you now - it's not a good idea to keep on lying to me. I am not in a charitable mood." A crack in his armour - that could be good, or perhaps not. Billie kept her mouth clamped firmly shut.

The lamp flashed on again, catching Billie off guard. It was like a red-hot poker to the eye. She groaned and tried to turn her face away, but the light was everywhere. Then Varas' fist connected with her face, snapping her head back. She tasted copper in her mouth - she'd bitten her tongue again, re-opening her earlier wound.

The lamp blinked off. Billie spat, blinking away the spots in her vision. Varas' lip curled in disgust.

"Filthy _bruja," _he muttered. He shook his head, regaining his composure. "Are you ready to answer my questions now?" Instead of waiting for an answer, he turned and picked something else up off the table. He held it up for her to inspect.

It was a charcoal picture - more accurately, it looked like the scribblings of a madman, all stark, jagged lines. The back of Billie's neck prickled. It wasn't a perfect likeness, but there was no mistaking who it was meant to be.

"Another _bruja _we brought in this afternoon drew this. In her final moments, she said something... interesting. She said a stranger, an _extranjero, _visited her and told her heretical stories. You were seen traveling with this stranger. What is he?"  
Not _"who is he", _Billie noted with mounting alarm. _What. _She had a sinking feeling she knew just who this 'prisoner' was. She ran her tongue over her bloodied teeth, trying to order her thoughts.

"Just a kid," she said. Then, to make a point - "Doesn't look much like him."

Varas drove his fist into her stomach. Billie saw it coming, but was powerless to stop it. She doubled over with a groan. He leaned over her, his face stony.  
"I warned you not to lie to me," he hissed. "I know you're harbouring that- that _creature. _Believe me, _bruja, _we will find it, and when we do, we will purge it from the world."

The light flooded Billie's vision again, and she let out a cry.

"We will have your full confession_ , _whether you give it willingly, or we have to tear it from your lying throat," Varas continued, his voice rising as if he was preaching from a pulpit. "Your heresy holds no sway here. Not in the cleansing light of truth."

Billie's senses were so overloaded that she almost missed the Inquisitor's dark chuckle. He tapped Billie's blackened, twisted hand with a finger. "Of course, you may be more amenable once we have removed this… _corruption _from you. I expect Garza will enjoy performing that duty very much."

As Billie processed that last remark, she heard the door open and slam shut. Footsteps echoed down some unseen hallway. The searing light stayed on.

_Oh, Daud, _she thought. _If only you could see me now._

•:•:•:•:•:•

The only sound in The Boy's cabin was the gentle lapping of waves against the _Knife of Dunwall's _hull. He lay down in his cot and held the bone charm in the palm of his hand, feeling its weight. He'd wrapped it carefully in a scarf, until he sure he was ready. Every time he entered the Void, it clung to him a little longer, made it harder for him to return. He had no way of knowing if it would let him go this time. But he had to find Billie.

He drew in a slow, deep breath, and unwrapped the charm. He let it settle against his skin. Icy tendrils travelled down his arm, making him gasp - and pulled him under.

This time, he was prepared for the fathomless darkness and biting chill. He took a moment to adjust, forcing himself to breathe deeply. _This was yours, _he reminded himself, _yours to bend to your will. _He turned this way and that, trying to orient himself. Black shards of dull black stone stretched as far as he could see.

Visions of himself entered his mind as a Whale materialised out of the gloom.  
_You have returned. _It was a different Whale to those he had spoken with last time. Not that it made much difference - the Whales shared their stories amongst themselves.

_I have. _

_You have come home. _

No, The Boy wanted to shout, I'm not what you think I am! _  
_Instead, he showed the Whale an image of Billie. _I must find this woman. _

_You know how to walk in dreams, _the Whale scolded. The Boy felt a hot spike of fury. Who was this Whale to talk down to him?

_Show me, _he demanded. He willed himself to move, and the darkness swallowed him. It spat him out a second later at the Whale's eye level. His bones felt heavy with fatigue. Materializing in the Void used to come as naturally to him as breathing. Now, it took all of his will. _Show me how to walk in dreams. _

_Very well, I will show you. _With a sense of weary resignation, the Whale changed course. The Boy grabbed hold of its barnacle-encrusted form and let it pull him along.

They drifted past broken, crumbling buildings, towering edifices that loomed out of the darkness and disappeared behind them. He even saw the _Knife of Dunwall _float past, as if carried on an invisible current.

_Home, _said the Whale. The Boy shook his head.

_It's not real - it's just the Void creating images from my memories. _

_The Void hungers. It wants you to stay. _After what could have been hours or minutes, The Whale's stream of images stopped abruptly. _We're here. _

They had reached the altar, still floating through the endless nothing. Statue-like, frozen cultists were still clustered around it. Millennia ago, a boy had died here, and awoken as something else entirely.  
The Boy let go of the Whale and climbed the rock. He ran his hands over the smooth altar stone. He didn't need to ask the Leviathan why it had brought him here. He knew now, with a cold certainty, what he had to do.

•:•:•:•:•:•

Daud had once shackled Billie to the wall of the estuary at low tide.

She hadn't done anything wrong - he was preparing her, he said, in case she was ever foolish enough to get caught by the City Watch. A captured assassin was worse than a dead assassin.

The pain, he explained as he shut the shackles on her wrists with a _click, _was not the worst thing about being tortured. After all, what was pain to an assassin? They punished their bodies every day.

"So what_ is _the worst thing?" Billie had asked as he trudged away through the stinking estuary mud. She was young and impulsive still, and the question came out ruder than she intended. Daud paused, but didn't turn around.

"The worst thing," he said quietly, so Billie had to strain to hear him, "is the waiting."

He'd walked away then, leaving Billie to watch the tide come in inch by inch, the freezing, murky water rising first over her knees, then her thighs, then her waist. When it reached her shoulders she smirked to herself, because she knew Daud would be back soon, and she hadn't even been frightened.

But Daud didn't reappear, and as the waves began to splash over Billie's chin, a little worm of doubt seeded itself in the back of her mind. What if he had misjudged the tide? What if he had dropped the key to the shackles somewhere?

What if he had forgotten about her?

When Daud pulled Billie from the water, thrashing and sobbing, he said nothing, just looked at her with a grave expression. When exhaustion finally overtook her and she lay shivering on the cobblestones, he gave a weary sigh.

"Torture," he said slowly, so that she could take in every word, "is like waiting for the shackles to open, except they never do."

When Billie heard the door of the interrogation chamber open, she thought of the waves lapping at her neck.

"Good evening, _bruja _," said a familiar voice. Jacobo Garza. Billie remembered his vulpine face clearly. "I hear you haven't been very cooperative."

"How are your eyes?" Billie forced out.

"The question is, how are _yours?" _Garza sounded like a child who had just been given a birthday present. "Can't be very comfortable, with that lamp shining in your face."

"I guess this makes us even."

"Even?" the sound of metal clinking on metal reached Billie's ears. She felt the water rise. "Not at all, _bruja. _We're just getting started." Something cold and sharp dragged down the side of Billie's face. She'd felt a blade against her skin enough times in her life to recognise the sensation. This one had a surgical edge. Every muscle in her body tensed. She no longer trusted herself to speak.  
"They say _El Forastero _leaves his mark upon the hands of those he favours," Garza said, his tone conversational. The blade moved to Billie's corrupted hand, danced over her skeletal fingers. " _I'd _say he left you with more than that, though. It'll be a pyre for you in the end, I expect. It's the only way to be sure." A smile suffused his voice, sticky as honey but sharp as a dagger in the ribs. "But, first things first..."

Garza pressed the knife into the soft flesh of Billie's arm. The water closed over her head, flooding her lungs, and at last the light and the pain faded away into blessed nothingness.

•:•:•:•:•:•

She shuddered awake with a gasp.

She was blind.

Panic flooded her, and she clawed at the darkness with her good hand.

No, not blind - she could see, though she wasn't sure how. She stood on an island of black stone. In the distance, the Void howled.

Something didn't feel right. Billie looked down and nearly fainted again - her other arm ended neatly just above the elbow.

"I've found you at last." The Boy materialized in front of her. His eyes were pools of ink, his expression vacant. "Men like Garza love to hurt people weaker than they are. Failing that, they love to break people who are stronger."

"Boy? How are you doing this?" Dazed, Billie reached out to check if he was really there, but he simply melted away into the darkness. She cast around wildly, and he appeared once again on her other side.

"I knew to reach you, I would have to return to the Void."

This was all wrong, Billie thought, her mind struggling to keep up. This wasn't her Boy. There was something else lurking beneath his skin. The Void, made manifest.

"Let him go," she ordered.

The Outsider cocked his head to the side, black eyes inscrutable.

"If you want to escape, you'll need some help." He disappeared again. Billie's head spun. She felt his hand on the nub of her arm, even before he reappeared. "I took this from you, once. Now it's time to give it back."

Fire shot through Billie's veins. She groaned, her knees buckling beneath her. Her missing arm burned; a phantom sensation that grew more insistent, more real with every ragged breath. Shadows pooled at her side, twisting and flowing like water until they settled into their new shape. The pain ebbed away, and Billie raised the shadow arm, flexing her new fingers experimentally. She stared at The Outsider, speechless.

"Go, Billie Lurk," he said, as the island gave a violent shudder. Cracks appeared on its smooth surface. "Take my gifts, and use them well."

"I'll come back for you," she told him, unsure if she was making a promise or a threat.

Then the rock beneath her feet crumbled away, and she fell.

•:•:•:•:•:•

"What the-?" Garza's voice broke into Billie's consciousness. She opened her eye to find him staring down at her, eyes bulging. She followed his gaze to her side, where her arm rested in its shackle. Blacker than ink, it was less like a solid object and more like a hole in the world. Garza's scalpel lay broken on the bloodstained floor.

"What in the Void _are _you?"

Billie raised her shadow arm - it passed through the shackle as if it had never existed - and drove her fist into the lamp that had caused her so much pain. Glass rained down as the room dimmed to an eerie glow. A slow smile spread across Billie's face as she locked eyes with Garza.

In a blink, she materialised behind him, wrapping her arms around his throat. He struggled against her grip, but Billie hooked a foot around his ankle and sent him sprawling to the floor. He hurled himself toward the metal table, laid out with a cruel array of surgical instruments. Billie kicked out at it and sent it toppling to the floor with a resounding crash. She was toying with him, and judging from the expression of terror on Garza's face, he knew it.

"HELP!" he shrieked, scrambling for the door. "SOMEONE HELP ME!" He threw himself through the door and slammed a switch on the wall. A klaxon split the air with an eerie scream. In one fluid motion, Billie tore the switch from the wall. The noise died to a weak crackle.

She reached toward Garza and felt the Void's power flow through her. She clenched her fist. Time ground to a standstill, the fleeing man frozen mid-stride. Billie seized his head and uttered a low growl of satisfaction as she snapped his neck.

Time flowed again. The dimly lit corridor erupted into chaos, as every Overseer in the building came running.

Billie Lurk had no weapons. She had no idea where she was. She didn't even have _shoes. _She bared her teeth in a feral smile and raised her hand to the ceiling. Shadows climbed the walls like ice forming on a window.

She was getting out, and she'd tear apart anyone who got in her way.


	8. VIII

**VIII**

Billie melted out of the darkness, a spectre-like form against the night sky. She perched on a high wall overlooking the Abbey of the Everyman, breathing in sweet, fresh air as if she would never get enough. Smoke rose in roiling columns from the prison. Greedy flames licked at the walls, claiming more of the structure with every minute. The Overseers and the Culleran Guard looked like ants as they ran to and fro with hoses and buckets. Their efforts were in vain; Billie had seen to that. Soon the fire would consume the Void-forsaken place and all its horrors.

Unbeknownst to Billie, The Outsider looked on with the detached interest of a butterfly collector observing a specimen. His gaze followed her as she turned and dropped from the wall, carried on the fleeting shadow of a passing cloud to a neighbouring rooftop.

_Outsider, _a whisper dragged his attention away. _Please, protect us. Don't let them take my mother. _His brow furrowed as he focused on the voice. More whispers joined in, drowning each other out.

_Please, Outsider, I'll do anything, just let me dream of him again! _

_El Forastero, watch over Amada. She only wanted to keep her grandmother's pendant with her... _

_Outsider, help me… _

_...grant me your power... _

_...I don't know where else to turn... _

_...make me strong… _

_Outsider... _

_El Forastero… _

It was too much, too fast. The Outsider groaned and pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the suffering, the cruelty, the greed. The whispers only kept coming, and with them came visions from which he couldn't turn away.  
A shrine of strange geometry. A lovingly polished rune on royal purple silk. Candles guttering in damp sconces. A weeping woman clutching a lifeless bundle to her heart. The snap of ribs beneath steel-toed boots. An emaciated child huddled in the rotting shell of a boat. Rats swarming in a dripping alley...  
And blood. So much blood.

The Outsider thrashed his arms as if he could sweep the visions away. They came thicker and faster than ever, threatening to bury him. He disappeared in a flurry of shadows and hurtled through the Void in a frantic attempt to escape. He pulled up short as a vast shape formed out of the murk.

_Where are you going, Outsider? _The Leviathan regarded him with mild curiosity. It altered its course to drift around him in a slow circle. _Your devotees call for you. _

_Make them stop, _The Outsider begged. Even now, the whispers tugged at him insistently. He would go mad.

_But you must listen. You are the Void's ears and eyes. You are a god. _

_I'm no god, _The Outsider argued, _I'm just a man. Surely you can see that? _More Whales approached, sailing toward him on unseen currents. One by one, they joined their companion's lazy orbit around him.

_A man, he says. Do men not think themselves gods? _There was a ripple of something not unlike laughter. They were mocking him.

_Would you reject the Void's power? _

_You made your choice. You offered yourself up at the altar. _

_You are a part of this place, as you once were. As you will be forever. _

_You're no man, _chorused the Whales. _You don't even have a name. _

_Don't listen to them, Boy, _Billie's voice barked at him from the back of his mind. The Outsider clung to it like a drowning man clinging to a life raft.

_You will not devour me! _A monstrous howl tore from his lips, a primal sound that made the Void shudder and writhe. In the distance, black rock crumbled and dreamscapes fell to dust. The long-forgotten wound at his throat tore open. Blood poured, and floated in crimson ribbons around him.

The Whales closed in.

•:•:•:•:•:•

The pillars of smoke and shrieking alarms faded into the distance as Billie staggered her way down the jetty to the _Knife of Dunwall. _Through the portholes, a single light burned - a beacon to guide her home. Fatigue pulled at her bones, her connection to the Void stretched to breaking point, but she forced herself to take one step after another. At long last, her feet hit the deck with the reassuring hollow sound she knew so well.

Her Boy looked impossibly small and fragile, lying on his cot with the Whale bone clutched in a pale hand. One by one, Billie prised his lifeless fingers open. The charm dropped to the floor with a dull _clunk. _

"Boy," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "It's time to come back now." She tapped her knuckles sharply on his collarbone, but he didn't move. He didn't even blink. She dug her nails into his hand, slapped him harshly across the face - everything she could think of to wake him. His head lolled, his eyes blind, unblinking.  
Somewhere deep inside Billie, a dam broke, and all of the fear and rage she had held back came flooding out of her.

"GIVE HIM BACK," she yelled, grabbing his shoulders. She shook him roughly, fingers twisted in his torn shirt. "Let him go, or I swear on Daud's memory, I'll march up that fucking mountain and drag him back myself!"

The bone charm gleamed white against the dark floorboards. She scooped it up and dragged herself out of the cabin, up the stairs and onto the deck. With all the remaining strength she could muster, she hurled it over the side of the ship, where it disappeared into the depths of the harbour.  
The world spun sickeningly around her. Unable to stave off her exhaustion any longer, Billie's knees buckled, and she sank against the _Knife of Dunwall's _hull. The ship rocked her gently, like a child in a crib.  
"Come back," she said, her voice a croak.

Her eye flickered shut, and she knew no more.

•:•:•:•:•:•

A light pierced the endless sky.

The Outsider felt it before he saw it, shining down through the tempest of Whales surrounding him. He reached out, and warmth kissed his skin, bringing with it memories he didn't know he had forgotten. The feeling of rain on his face. The thrum of the _Knife of Dunwall's _engine. The taste of peaches. He felt a pillow beneath his head, a twinge of pain in his injured ankle. The memories drew him in like a lover rousing him from slumber.

_No, _the Whales chorused in dismay. _Who will tell our stories? Who will remember us? _

_I will, _The Outsider promised, even as the light swallowed him. The Void gave a mighty shudder, like a man taking his last breath.

In the dim light of the cabin, The Boy blinked.

•:•:•:•:•:•

Sunlight streamed through the porthole of Billie's cabin, rousing her from her dreamless sleep. _How did I get here? _She wondered.  
Her second thought, as she sat up stiffly; _I'm too old for this shit.  
_Someone had carried her to her cabin and drawn her blanket over her. They'd also tied her shirt sleeve off, just beneath the stump of her arm. She took a moment to process both of those facts.  
She found a spare pair of boots and pulled them on, one-handed. Then she made her way up to the main deck and squinted into the distance. To the south, a thin sliver of land was all she could make out of Serkonos. Cullero was a speck. Billie's lip curled. She decided she liked the city better from a distance.  
She found her Boy upstairs in the bridge.

"What's our heading?"

"North." The Boy paused to check the navigation instruments on the panel in front of him. "Mostly north," he amended. Billie let out a quiet snort of amusement and gently took the controls from him.

"You look like shit," she told him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn away to hide a smile.

Neither of them mentioned the events of the previous night. They didn't need to. They were alive, and that was enough.

The days passed, and the dazzling blue skies of Serkonos gave way to the dismal grey clouds of Gristol. A chill wind blew in from the north, so in the evenings they took to huddling by the furnace in the engine room to keep warm. The Boy's ankle healed, and Billie fashioned herself a new eyepatch.

"I never thanked you, Billie," The Boy said quietly one evening. He wore a blanket draped over his bony shoulders. Billie had tried cajoling him to eat more, but their supplies had dwindled, and they were both getting sick of brined hagfish.

"It's fine. I handle gratitude about as well as I handle compliments. But, since we're on the subject..." she tapped her fingers restlessly, trying to find the right words. "This… connection you have with the Void. It's getting worse, isn't it?"

The Boy rested his chin on his knees and stared into the roaring furnace as he considered his answer. Eventually he nodded. "Yes. As long as the connection between the Void and this world exists."

"Shindaerey Peak." Billie shook her head. "I should have torn that place to the ground. Hey," she added, glaring daggers at The Boy, "no more messing around with bone charms, got it? Captain's orders."

The Boy uttered a soft laugh. "Yes, captain." This time, he meant it.

•:•:•:•:•:•

"Of all the places in the world, _this _is where we part." Billie gave a snort. "Typical."  
They stood side by side on a lonely jetty in the shadow of Dunwall Tower. Once, Billie had fished a deposed empress from the water here. That felt like a hundred years ago.  
The _Knife of Dunwall _was stocked up with enough fuel and supplies to make it to Karnaca. The ship sat low in the water - it would be a rough few weeks, crawling her way south, but at least she wouldn't have to stop in Cullero. She'd had enough of that city to last several lifetimes.

The Boy stared out across the water. Billie had never seen him look so lost. "You don't have to do this."

"Someone has to. Might as well be me." They had argued about this for a week, even going whole days without speaking to one another. But the result was always the same - Billie had to return to Shindaerey North Quarry and finish what she had started.  
_Then maybe you can finally be free, _she added in her head.

"I won't be able to help you this time." said The Boy. Billie aimed a punch at his arm.

"Don't flatter yourself, you little snot. I lasted for years without any interference from you. I'll do it my way."

The Boy's jaw tightened as he looked away. "As you always have."

Billie reached out and pulled him into an embrace. He stiffened in surprise, but she didn't blame him. She'd surprised _herself, _even. Then, tentatively, his arms circled around her.  
"Stay safe, Boy," Billie muttered into his shoulder. When she released him, his face was impassive, but his storm-grey eyes were shining.

"Take care, Billie Lurk."

The Boy stood on the jetty and watched the _Knife of Dunwall _grow smaller and smaller on the horizon. He didn't know when Billie would return, if she returned at all. But his four thousand years had taught him patience, if nothing else.

He would wait for her.

_•:•:•:•:•:•_

_In the years to come, people whisper that the Outsider's voice has gone quiet, though not too loudly, lest the Overseers hear them. _

_The brick and iron landscape of Dunwall changes, reaching towards the sky. Whale oil fuels the engines of industry, driving them to new and dizzying heights. The empress declares an end to the Abbey's persecution of her subjects. Other countries follow her example, and peace finally settles across the empire. _

_The runes and trinkets made of bone still wash up in the silt of the river sometimes. But, with machines becoming ever more impressive, magic seems like a gimmick, unpredictable and less convenient than its man-made counterparts. _

_Where there are people in power, there will always be those who suffer beneath them. But if one cares enough to listen to the ragged orphan children who make their homes along the docks, they sometimes whisper about the man who visits the district at night like a spectre, leaving no trace. He's old, they say, older than the city itself, but you wouldn't know it to look at him. He's kind, too - he brings food, and warns them when the City Watch are planning a sweep of the district so they can hide.  
Sometimes he tells them stories about the Whales, or about a boy not much older than them - a boy whose eyes are shut, but can see forever. _


End file.
